


Not Safe

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: Crash Prequels [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: Alicia’s world shatters when Madison dies, so when Nick takes a bullet to the chest, for the first moment, she doesn’t feel anything. Then she feels everything. Alicia/Althea but mostly Alicia-centric. Story begins at the end of 4x03.





	Not Safe

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back at it with Alicia/Althea. I guess this could be a prequel to Crash, if you want to read it that way. Also I’m messing around with canon again, because why not? This follows canon in some ways, changes it in others. Warnings for potentially suicidal thoughts, plus character deaths that occur in canon. Other than that, canonical levels of violence are to be expected. I finished this at 2 am so expect some errors. Feel free to call it to my attention and I'll get on fixing it.

Alicia’s world shatters when Madison dies, so when Nick takes a bullet to the chest, for the first moment, she doesn’t feel anything. Then she feels everything. Time stops moving as the panic builds in her chest. She runs, but it’s like she’s in one of those nightmares where everything happens in slow motion. Each step seems to last forever. She reaches Nick’s side, and Strand’s already trying to stop the bleeding. Trying. It doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Blood bubbles from between Nick’s lips, and Alicia knows, on some level, that’s when it’s over. Nothing they can do will save him.

 

The girl that shot him is gone. Ran off. Alicia thinks of how much she wants that girl dead as she sobs over the body of her dead brother – her dead brother who will soon rise if no one does anything. Strand tries to comfort her, but Alicia pushes him away. Her family is dead.

 

Alicia pulls herself together after a long while. She wipes the tears from her face and stares down at her brother. She touches her palm to his forehead then looks to Strand and asks, “Who’s going to do it?”

 

“Do what?” Strand questions. His eyes aren’t dry, either.

 

“Who’s going to make sure he doesn’t get back up?” Alicia asks.

 

Luciana starts crying again, but Strand merely blinks and pulls the knife from his belt. He gets ready to destroy the brain through the ear, but Alicia holds her hand out. Strand falters.

 

“What?” he says.

 

“I should do it,” Alicia says quietly. “It should be me.”

 

Strand flips the knife so he’s holding the blade and extends the hilt toward Alicia. Alicia takes the knife and braces herself. It’s something she’s done before, except this time it’s her own brother.

 

“Alicia,” Strand says gently. “I can do it.”

 

“No,” Alicia says. “I got it.”

 

It would be worse if she waited until he got back up. At least, that’s what Alicia tells herself. She’s hyperaware of all the eyes on her. Strand. Luciana. Farther off, Morgan, John, and Althea. They all stare as she ensures Nick won’t be getting back up. She pulls the knife free, hand trembling violently, and as Strand reaches out to her, Alicia releases her hold on the hilt, letting the knife fall to the ground beside Nick’s body. Alicia sits back and draws her knees closer to her body. It takes every ounce of strength she has left not to start rocking back and forth. When she realizes there’s blood, Nick’s blood, smeared on her hands, she forcefully rubs her palms against the grass until her hands feel raw.

 

She just happens to look over at Morgan, John, and Althea. Althea just happens to be filming. _Filming_. Moments after her brother’s dead. Moments after Alicia had to stop him from becoming part of the dead’s ranks.

 

She’s filming their anguish.

 

Alicia shoves herself to her feet, and before anyone registers what’s happening, Alicia’s running. Charging, really, at Althea. She makes a grab for the camera, but Althea’s faster, yanking it out of Alicia’s grasp. That’s fine. Snarling, Alicia’s arms wrap around Althea’s torso, and Alicia tackles the bitch to the grass. The camera clatters to the ground as Alicia’s full weight lands atop of Althea.

 

For a moment, Alicia isn’t sure what she’s trying to do here. She has options. She could try to strangle the bitch. Punch her. If she had a weapon, she could do some real damage. She doesn’t get the chance. Morgan and John grab her by the arms, but Alicia has two fistfuls of Althea’s jacket, and she isn’t about to let go.

 

“Get the fuck off me!” Althea yells, trying to throw Alicia aside while Morgan and John futilely attempt to yank her away. Alicia’s fists press against Althea’s chest, holding her to the earth. Alicia can’t stop her arms from shaking – her whole body, really. Tears roll down her cheeks, but she doesn’t notice until she sees them splash against Althea’s exposed neck. Her grip doesn’t loosen, but Althea stops screaming at her to get off. Morgan and John let go.

 

“How could you?” Alicia whispers. “How could you film it?”

 

“I – I swear, I didn’t turn it on until – until after he was…” Althea trails off, and more tears slip from Alicia’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Althea says.

 

Alicia gives a curt nod, shoves down at Althea’s chest one last time, and swings her leg over Althea’s body so she’s seated in the grass once more. Althea scrambles to her feet, swiping the camera up as she stands, and she checks to make sure it isn’t damaged. Alicia huffs. That fucking camera. She swears, if she gets the chance, she’s going to smash it to pieces. Maybe she can get her hands on those stupid tapes, too. Rip them apart. Maybe then she’ll feel better.

 

She won’t. She knows she won’t. Her brother’s lying dead less than twenty feet away. Luciana hasn’t left his side. Maybe she can’t. Strand has at least gotten to his feet. He fights his way out of his jacket and gently lays it over Nick’s face.

 

“We can’t stay here,” Morgan says. “It isn’t safe.”

 

Alicia swipes at the tearstains on her face with the heels of her hands and sniffles. Morgan’s right. They aren’t safe here. Especially not after that gunshot broadcasted their location to every dead thing for miles. Maybe that should scare Alicia into action. But her family is dead. Everyone she loved and cared about in the past world is dead. What does she have left?

 

“Alicia,” Morgan says. “We have to go.”

 

“He needs to be buried,” Alicia replies.

 

“Not here,” Morgan says. Alicia’s eyes lift to his face, and she flinches at the raw emotion she finds there. “We’ll wrap the body,” Morgan assures her. “We’ll take – we’ll take him with us, and we’ll find a better spot. Is that okay?”

 

Alicia, after a moment of gazing absently into space, nods. Morgan, John, and Althea all stare at her expectantly, but Alicia’s too exhausted to get back on her feet. Attacking Althea used the rest of her energy for the day. If the dead ambushed them right now, Alicia doesn’t think she’d bother to get up. Just breathing is exhausting.

 

Strand helps Luciana up and escorts her to the SWAT van. He returns to help John wrap Nick’s body in a tarp as Morgan…babysits Alicia and Althea? Maybe he thinks if he walks away, Alicia will jump up and try to murder Althea once and for all. Well, the joke’s on Morgan. Alicia isn’t even sure she can stand, let alone strangle the life out of another person. She doesn’t even think she really wants to hurt Althea anymore. For a split second, when she saw the camera, she did. Althea isn’t the problem.

 

Charlie is. The Vultures are. And as soon as Alicia’s energy comes back, she’s going to kill them. All of them.

 

“We’re ready,” John calls.

 

“Alicia,” Morgan says.

 

Wordlessly, Alicia holds her hands up. Morgan and Althea exchange a glance, then they each grasp onto one of Alicia’s wrists and haul her up. Her legs give out the moment she’s upright, but neither Morgan nor Althea has let go, and they prevent her from hitting the ground on her ass.

 

Alicia isn’t sure if she feels nothing or everything.

 

“Help her,” Morgan tells Althea. He eyes Alicia. “Please don’t attack her again.”

 

Alicia blinks. “Don’t film me.”

 

Althea scoffs but doesn’t offer any snarky comments. Morgan releases Alicia once he’s sure Althea’s got her, and he limps over to the van. Althea drags Alicia’s arm around her shoulders and holds onto her wrist to keep it there. Each step Althea takes is, like, two steps for Alicia, mostly because she’s being purposefully difficult. She looks over at the spot where Nick was shot down. Her eyes are drawn to the pool of blood left behind, drying quickly in the grass.

 

He couldn’t speak. After Charlie shot him, he wasn’t capable of speaking. Couldn’t say goodbye. Couldn’t tell them he loved them. Charlie robbed him of that, the same way she robbed him of his life. That girl’s the first on Alicia’s list.

 

“You could help me out, you know,” Althea says. “Pick up your feet. Walk.”

 

Just for that, Alicia drops to her knees. Althea grunts as she’s dragged down with Alicia, refusing to let Alicia slip out of her grasp.

 

“Come on!” Althea complains. Alicia turns her head to look at Althea before realizing how close that puts their faces. She can’t back down now.

 

“You could try a little more sensitivity,” Alicia replies. “Your brother wasn’t just murdered by a little girl.”

 

Althea presses her lips together and exhales through her nose. “That’s fair,” she admits. “The others are waiting for us. Can we please walk again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Alicia stops being dead weight and, with Althea’s assistance, gets back on her feet. They continue to walk to the van, and the first sounds of the dead reach their ears. The growls are faint, not a serious threat at the moment, but there’s definitely more than just a couple approaching their position. Althea picks up the pace, tugging Alicia along with her.

 

“They’re coming,” Althea mutters. She glances back at the dead shambling through the buildings toward them.

 

“Let them,” Alicia says.

 

“We can’t take them. There’s too many.”

 

“I know,” Alicia says.

 

Althea’s eyebrows pull together. “We need to leave before they box us in.”

 

Alicia hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t walk any faster. Her legs are jelly. She’s numb. She just keeps thinking about her brother’s last moments. And Charlie. She’s going to kill that girl. Whatever it takes.

 

Althea’s frustration has apparently reached its peak, and she stops walking. Alicia almost bothers to ask what she thinks she’s doing, until Althea sweeps Alicia off her feet and over her shoulder, linking her arm around Alicia’s legs. Alicia, now, has a nice view of Althea’s ass, albeit upside down.

 

“Hey!”

 

“You weren’t moving fast enough,” Althea grumbles. “Stop talking. It makes you heavier.”

 

That doesn’t even make _sense_ , but Alicia’s too indignant to respond anyway. Althea gets them to the van as the dead begin to add up into a considerable horde behind them. Althea slams her palm against the back door, and it swings open as Althea lowers Alicia back to the ground. Strand and Luciana pull Alicia up, and Althea follows, giving John the okay to drive off. Althea takes a seat across from Strand and Alicia and inspects her camera once more. Once she’s absolutely positive there’s no damage, she locks the camera away and leans back in her seat.

 

More than once, Alicia feels Althea’s eyes on her. The first few times, she chalks it up to coincidence and ignores it. By the seventh glance, Alicia dares to meet her gaze. To her surprise, Althea doesn’t look away. She doesn’t say anything, either, which might be even more annoying. Alicia caught her staring and she doesn’t even seem to give a shit. Alicia’s eyes lower first – lower right to the tarp-wrapped body that belongs to her brother, lying on the floor of the van at their feet.

 

“Stop,” Alicia commands.

 

John slams on the breaks, jostling them all around a bit, and Alicia rushes to the doors, flings them open, and gets sick out the back. She doesn’t know what set it off, and there’s not much in her stomach to empty out, but she spits at the pavement when she’s done and feels a little better. John waits for Alicia to pull the door shut and sit down before he starts driving again.

 

Althea pulls a bottle of water out of one of her thousands of hidden storage spaces and holds it across the aisle to Alicia. Alicia stares at the bottle, stares at the long fingers holding it, and takes it by the cap with a nod that she hopes suffices enough as a thanks. She twists the top off and drinks half the bottle in one go. Maybe not the best idea, but it stays down.

 

“We should find a place to bury him before dark,” Morgan suggests.

 

Alicia swallows another mouthful of water, wipes her mouth with her sleeve, and says, “Anywhere is fine.”

 

Luciana shoots Alicia a look of disbelief then says, “Somewhere nice.”

 

“How ‘bout up here?” John asks, motioning at a field off to the left. “We could put him near that big tree.”

 

“Yes,” Luciana agrees. When neither Alicia nor Strand dissents, John pulls off the road and brings the van to a halt. Alicia, Strand, and Luciana grab shovels and head for the tree. Together, they dig a grave, and together, they lower Nick’s body into it. Alicia falls to her knees beside the grave, unable to look away from the tarp that holds her brother. Luciana, too, has run out of energy, and Strand begins tossing dirt on top of Nick’s body. After a few moments, Morgan takes up a shovel and helps him finish.

 

“Do you want to say a few words?” Morgan asks once the grave is completely covered.

 

Luciana touches her hand to the fresh dirt, murmurs something to herself. Alicia stands.

 

“No,” Alicia says. “We can go.”

 

Morgan hesitates, but Alicia’s already walking back to the van. Morgan opts to stay with Luciana and Strand. John’s there, too, standing off to the side with his hat clutched to his chest. Alicia steps back into the van, dropping into the seat closest to the driver. She leans back, lets her eyes close. She nearly jumps out of her skin when Althea speaks. She’d lost track of her, figured she was out there with John.

 

“I’m sorry,” Althea says. “For earlier. I should’ve kept the camera off.”

 

Alicia pretends like her heart isn’t racing from the mild scare, but her eyes pop open. They seek out Althea, spot her twisted around in the driver’s seat.

 

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “Alright.” Althea looks like she wants to say more, so Alicia adds, “Look, we don’t have to talk. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You don’t even _want_ to know me, beyond getting my story. So we don’t have to do this.”

 

“John and Morgan are out there paying respects to your brother,” Althea says. “And you’re in here. Why?”

 

Their eyes lock. Alicia thinks back to her mother. They didn’t have a body to bury. They didn’t get to have a funeral. When Alicia dies, whether that’s fifty years from now or fifty days, she doubts there’ll be anyone left to bury her. To give her a funeral. She bets, when she dies, no one will say any words after the fact. No one will gather around her burial site and mourn her. Althea, at that moment, chooses to climb out of the driver’s seat and plop down across from Alicia once more.

 

Alicia blinks.

 

Althea smiles and nods. “You don’t want to talk. I get that.”

 

“Then why are you still talking?” Alicia asks.

 

Althea’s smile widens. “It’s what I do.”

 

Alicia’s eyebrows furrow. “What?” she asks in spite of herself. “What does that even mean?”

 

“The camera,” Althea says. “I’m a journalist. Journalists ask questions.”

 

“There’s not really a high demand for journalists anymore, is there?”

 

Althea laughs, but Alicia’s pretty sure it’s a pity laugh. That may have been a weak attempt at a joke, but it definitely wasn’t funny.

 

“That was good,” Althea says, pointing a finger at Alicia. “I’ll remember that one.” Althea pauses. “So what were you?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Before all this. What did you do?”

 

Alicia snorts. “I graduated high school,” she says. “Got accepted into Berkeley. I had a boyfriend. I was normal.”

 

“Jesus, how old are you?”

 

Alicia smiles. “Old enough.”

 

Althea does the math. “Twenty-five?”

 

Alicia balks. “Twenty- _four_. How old are _you_? Forty?”

 

“Hey! I know I do _not_ look that old! I just turned thirty. I think.”

 

“You think?”

 

Althea offers a small smile and shrug in response. “Kinda lost track of my days for a while.”

 

Before Alicia can respond, the back doors open, and her jaw snaps shut. John resumes driving, but it isn’t long before the sun sets and they agree to pull off and rest for the night. Alicia tries to sleep. Really does. Every time she begins to drift off, her mind bombards her with the horrific images of the day. Charlie shooting Nick. Strand uselessly applying pressure to the wound. Nick attempting to speak through the blood and likely punctured lung. Alicia taking the knife and –

 

She jolts awake, sweat dripping down her face, and she looks around the van as her eyes adjust to the darkness. Luciana and Strand are fast asleep, propped up against each other. John and Morgan are asleep up front, John with his hat pulled over his face. Althea’s stretched out on the seats across from Alicia, one arm hanging off the edge so her hand rests on the floor. Alicia stands and easily locates her Glock amongst her admittedly few other things. It’s wrapped in her jacket, fully loaded, and she jams it into her waistband before she sneaks out the back. The doors aren’t quiet, but she manages to keep the noise down when she shuts it behind her.

 

She does a quick walk around, makes sure there’s nothing lurking just in the distance, and she walks off the road into the grass. She doesn’t go far, maybe a yard, then she lowers herself to the ground and crosses her legs, setting the Glock next to her. There’s a light breeze. Alicia can see the stars. The moon.

 

Alicia grabs the Glock and scrambles to her feet, whipping around with her finger braced against the trigger guard. She exhales when she realizes it’s a living person and not the dead, but she doesn’t lower the gun.

 

“What do you want?” Alicia asks.

 

Althea doesn’t slow her approach. “It’s not safe,” Althea calls, “to be out here all alone.”

 

“I’m armed.”

 

“I can see that,” Althea replies. “You gonna keep pointing that thing at me?”

 

Alicia falters. She doesn’t lower the Glock. Althea grins.

 

“I don’t bite,” Althea adds. Alicia rolls her eyes and lowers her arm. Althea reaches her but keeps a respectable distance. She jams her hands into her pockets. “What’re you doing out here?” Althea asks.

 

“I needed some air,” Alicia says wryly. Althea eyes the Glock, so Alicia shoves it back into her waistband. She puts her hands on her hips. “If you came here to ask me more questions, you can leave.”

 

“I don’t have to ask questions,” Althea says. “We can just…sit.”

 

“Right.”

 

Alicia sits back down but finds herself lying back, staring up at the stars. She could never see constellations, not even when someone else pointed them out to her, and this time is no different. She’s not even sure there are any constellations to see. All she sees is stars. Lots of them. Too many to count, but that doesn’t stop her from trying, especially not as Althea sits beside her then carefully lays back, too. She’s close enough to touch, if Alicia bothers to reach over.

 

Alicia can feel the tension in the air – the kind of tension that occurs when someone wants to say something. She waits for Althea to speak as she silently continues to count the stars. She loses track and starts over. She loses track again. And again. Althea still doesn’t say anything.

 

“I know you want to say something,” Alicia blurts. She rolls her head to the side, glares hard at Althea. “So just get on with it and say whatever you need to say, Althea, so I –”

 

“Al,” Althea cuts in.

 

“What?”

 

“You can call me Al.”

 

Alicia heaves a sigh. “Whatever. Al. Just – just say it.”

 

Al’s lips twitch up into a smile. “Say what? I’m just lying here. Minding my own business. Making sure the dead don’t make a meal of you.”

 

“Because you _totally_ care if the dead eat me,” Alicia mutters.

 

“Actually, I do.”

 

“Because you don’t have my story yet. I forgot.”

 

“That isn’t – that’s not true,” Al argues.

 

They stare into each other’s eyes. Alicia can’t read Al, but Al can probably read her like an open book. Alicia flinches at the idea. Flinches like she’s been smacked.

 

Alicia realizes, for the first time, that Al’s camera hasn’t accompanied her out here. It’s just the two of them. Anything Alicia says won’t be documented and stored potentially forever.

 

“Do you think anyone will care when you die?” Alicia asks. Al laughs, but Alicia’s dead serious. “I mean it,” Alicia says. “Do you?”

 

Al’s laugh fades into a wide smile, and she shakes her head the best she can while lying on the ground, head turned toward Alicia. “No,” Al says. “No, I don’t think anyone will care. Why?”

 

“Does it bother you?” Alicia asks softly.

 

Al’s tongue wets her lips, and her hazel eyes lift up as she mulls it over. “No,” she finally answers. “Everyone I cared about has been dead a while now.”

 

Their eyes lock again. Alicia inhales. “There’s no one left,” she says. “It’s just me now.”

 

“It’s not just you.”

 

“It’s just me,” Alicia says. Before the silence that falls between them has the chance to become awkward, Alicia admits, “I wanted to kill you earlier.”

 

“I noticed.” Al cracks a smile. “You did a shit job, Clark.”

 

Alicia snorts and rubs at her eyes with her index finger and thumb. “I didn’t even try. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

 

“Yeah? Is that a challenge?”

 

“No. I’m too tired to try.” Alicia lowers her hand and grins. “Maybe tomorrow, though. If you bust out that camera again –”

 

“Oh, I’ll be busting out that camera,” Al says.

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

They laugh together, and Alicia tears her eyes away from Al’s face. They aren’t bonding, Alicia tells herself. This is definitely not that. And if they are bonding, it’s only because it’s the middle of the night and Alicia’s dead tired but unable to sleep, and tomorrow, they’ll be back to what they were. So Alicia sits up and reaches over, seizing two fistfuls of Al’s jacket.

 

“Are you gonna try to kill me again?” Al jokes. “Because I’m really not in the mood to fight.”

 

Alicia yanks her up so Al’s sitting, too.

 

“Manhandling me, much?” Al grumbles. She brushes something out of her hair. “You know, if you asked, I’d –”

 

This bitch doesn’t know when to shut up. Alicia uses her hold on Al’s jacket to pull her in but simultaneously moves toward her. She’s so sleep deprived. That’s all this is. Alicia’s practically in Al’s lap by the time their lips meet, stunning Al into silence. Alicia releases Al’s jacket with one hand, expecting some kind of resistance, but Al doesn’t shove her away. Doesn’t recoil. Al’s hands land at Alicia’s waist, knot into the fabric of her shirt, and pull her closer. Alicia’s free hand hooks around the back of Al’s neck, fingers splaying into Al’s short hair.

 

Alicia tries to ignore the tightening in her stomach and bites back a moan when Al’s tongue traces along her lower lip. Al falls back to the grass, pulling Alicia with her, so Alicia ends up straddling Al’s hips with her hands planted in the grass on each side of Al’s head. Their lips don’t break apart until Al’s fingertips slip beneath Alicia’s shirt, and the weight of the world returns to Alicia’s shoulders. Alicia suddenly can’t breathe. She shifts back enough to separate their lips, earning herself a groan of protest from Al as Alicia struggles to catch her breath. Al’s eyes remain closed for another few moments until something feels off.

 

“Hey? You okay?” Al asks.

 

“Fine,” Alicia manages to choke out. “Totally fine. Sorry.”

 

“No, if –”

 

Alicia clamps her hand over Al’s mouth to shut her up. This isn’t a conversation Alicia wants to have, nor does she feel like it’s a conversation that needs to happen.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Alicia finally says. She can’t bring herself to look at Al despite still hovering over her. Alicia pulls her hand away from Al’s mouth and gets to her feet, brushing dirt off of her clothes and making a beeline for the van. She leaves Al in the grass, hair messy, a look of disbelief etched into her face as she sits and watches Alicia escape back to the van. Al shakes her head to herself and gets up, jogging to the van and climbing into the back.

 

Alicia’s beside Strand, leaning against his free arm, breathing evenly. If she’s not asleep, she’s damn good at pretending she is. Al exhales and fixes her hair before sprawling out across from Alicia, Strand, and Luciana.

 

Al doesn’t sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately changed the person that destroys Nick’s brain to Alicia. It just felt right. I also think I messed with Alicia’s age. Quite frankly I don’t know how old she’s supposed to be, so I went closer to Alycia Debnam-Carey’s actual age. If you want to talk about anything, leave a comment! Let me know what you think. I’ll be sure to respond as quickly as I can!


End file.
